loves me? Or loves me not?
by rosemoon1999
Summary: This is Spamano story. Obviously. What happens when Romano decides to, well disappere? *plz excuse crap spelling and crap summary :o*
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANYTHING HETALIA-RELATED, INCLUDING CARECTERS.**

"Damn you Spain." Muttered a certain brown-haired Italian, pausing his work to wipe sweat from his brow. It was midday, and Romano was out in the garden picking tomatoes for dinner. "Stupid bastardo. Who does he think he is, making me pick his damn tomatoes in the middle of the fricking day? Why not earlier or later when it's cooler?" he ranted to himself.

"That's exactly what I had told you." Said a voice behind him. Romano jumped, twisting around like a cat. Spain stood behind him, looking like he owned the place. (Which he did.) Romano scowled darkly, obviously embarrassed. "Go away, Tomato Bastard. Working is bad enough without you hanging over me like the damn pervert you are! I hate you!" Spain raised his eyebrows. "Language, please. And if you really do hate me, why are you always at my house when you have your own?" Romano flushed angrily. "I can say whatever the hell I want, dammit! I'm not your little slave anymore, you can't order me around!" he yelled, avoiding the question. Spain stared impassively, not reacting. "Don't fucking stare at me like that! Damn pervert! Go to hell!" screamed Romano. He spun on a heel and took off, sprinting to his old room in the Spaniards majestic home. This left poor Spain to stare at the box of tomatoes, wondering what he had done wrong this time. He sighed. Why did he always have to screw things up? Why was he so clueless with Romano? Why did he care so much about the tsundere Italian? Why, why, WHY? He sighed despairingly. Wondering would get him nowhere. Gardening would get him and Romano supper. So the brokenhearted country knelt and began the difficult task at hand, which was trying not to pick bad tomatoes while thinking about the fiery Italians harsh words.

Romano thundered up the stairs, half-hoping he would break through and disappear, half-hoping he would make it up to his room. What was wrong with him? Why did he always insult, ridicule, and ultimately confuse Spain? Why, why, WHY? Shaking from emotional turmoil, Romano threw open his door, putting a hole through the wall. Great. That was all he fucking needed. What else could go wrong? His hidden love-pretend hate relationship with Spain could get even more complicated. Oh wait, it. Already. Did. Anything else?

Not bothering to close the door, he threw himself on the bed, hating the tears of confused pain beginning to seep from his green eyes. Romano thrashed his legs in anguish, wishing he could die. Then Spain wouldn't have to deal with him. Then his brother could rule all of Italy. Nobody would miss him. Actually, they would all be glad. GLAD! They weren't ever there for him when he was down or confused. Nobody cared about him. They wouldn't care if he was dead or alive. He could go missing, and it wouldn't be noticed for days.

His anger drained away with the realization. He turned onto his back, feeling 's eyes welled up with more tears, this time of hurt. He shut his eyes, attempting to seal in his emotions. But more and more just came forth. Years of blocked feeling was letting loose, and it was far from beautiful. Pain, hurt, anger, confusion, loneliness, everything he had bottled up and thrown away was coming back in one tidal wave of overwhelming pain. With shaking hands, Romano managed to scrawl out a note before his hold on reality was lost…


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANYTHING HETALIA RELATED!**

Loves me? Loves me not? chapter 2

It was dark by the time Spain was finished making supper. It was slightly burnt lasagna, Romano's favorite. "ROMANO, LASANGA'S DONE!" One…Two…Three…Four..…Five…Six…..…..Seven? Spain frowned. Usually, by four Romano was running down the stairs, complaining the meal took too long or he was only eating the dish because he was extremely hungry. "ROMANO!" Called Spain again, thinking the Italian hadn't heard him. He counted again, this time to ten. But still no answer. The brunette frowned. Maybe Romano was showering? He paused, listening for water rushing through pipes.

There was none.

Starting to worry, the Spaniard half-ran, half-walked to the staircase, shouting about supper again. It was then he noticed the upended umbrella stand and messed up rug in the foyer. Normally, this would mean nothing. But another thing was out of place, much to Spain's horror. He grabbed the wall to support himself as his knees gave out. His heart pounded to the tempo of "The Disappearance of Hatsune Miku", only much faster. He staggered to the stairs, spots swirling in his vision. This could NOT be happening, yet the proof was staring mockingly at him. Spain's foot hit the first step, and he went sprawling. His jaw slammed into a stair corner, knocking a tooth loose. Get up! He wailed to his body. Get up! We gotta make sure he's ok! We have to! We have to!

Slowly, much too slowly, he got up and began the agonizing journey up the stairs. Each thud of his feet sounded like a cannon shot in the empty house. But Spain didn't care. He was focused on the very last step, and from there, Romano's room. Finally, he topped the stairs. Wobbly, he attempted a run and promptly fell on his face. The brunette clawed the carpet as the stairs began to claim him. "No. I. Will. Not. Fall. Now" hissed Spain through gritted teeth, heaving him out of the staircase's grasp. Getting up again, he made his way to Romano's room, dreading what would, or wouldn't, be there.

Thankfully, the door was slightly ajar. Spain was shot through with what felt like a lightning bolt when he saw this. Ignoring his battered body and aching jaw, he burst into the room, screaming Romano's name, knowing it was pointless but trying anyway. He took one look around and fainted.

The room was in disarray, clothes thrown every which way as if in a frenzy. The blankets were ripped, sheets torn from the bed and hanging on the curtain rod. There was a hole on the wall, but whether from whatever had possessed Romano to do this or from the doorknob Spain couldn't tell. Tan wallpaper clung to the walls by the narrowest of strands, revealing the plaster underneath. But it wasn't any of that which had made Spain faint. No, what had done it were the bloody streaks on the window.

Just like those on the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANYTHING HETALIA-RELATED.**

_(a/n: I am SOOOOOOOOO sorry for not updating this one as much as I should.)_

Romano came to his senses underneath a weeping willow. What the hell am I doing here? He wondered. His hands hurt like a bitch, his head throbbed, and there was a bird chirping above his head. He covered his ears and rolled over, groaning. What had happened? Thinking hard, he discovered something alarming: all he could remember from recent events was running up to his room. Anything after that was blank.

Slowly, he sat up. Why couldn't he remember anything? Absently, Romano brushed his hair back, and then yelled, whipping his hands forward in pain. The brunette's eyes widened. What had happened to his hands?! They were a sore, sorry sight. Cuts ran deep and freely halfway to his elbow. Bruises peppered up to his wrists. His nails were all broken, with blood trapped beneath the bed. Most of his knuckles were swollen grotesquely, and some looked broken. Above him, the bird continued its song, mockingly happy. Romano turned, glaring at it. "Shut up! It isn't funny! Damn bird! Go away!" He yelled. The bird cocked its head, jumped to a higher branch, and continued singing. "Dammit! Go away or shut up!" The bird did neither. Angry now, Romano went to scoop up dirt to chuck at it, then stopped. With his hands as they were, it would HURT to do that. Besides, he had better things to do than hurl stuff at annoying little birds. Things like getting home.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Romano got up. His bones creaked. "How long have I been here?" he though aloud. One more question he couldn't answer, one more thought to agonize over. He rubbed his face on his shoulder, irritated. Focus! You are not going to get anywhere worrying. You've got to use your head, and think! He scolded himself. "First things first," he decided. "I'll look around outside, then if I don't know where I am; I'll call that bastard Spain. Much as I…. Much as I…." He frowned. "As much as I… As much as I….. Dammit! As much as I…" Why can't I say it? He wondered. Why can't I say I hate Spain? Ah, screw it. I'll worry later. Right now, let's get out of here!

He pushed aside the willow vines, wincing at the hand pain. "Fuck! I hate the wilderness." Romano muttered. He squinted, expecting a bright light. But he needn't to. It was late twilight, and the sun was throwing its last rays accost a purple sky. Romano's breath hitched. "Shit! I thought it was only shady! I gotta get to the tomato bastards house! Fast!"

"Or, you could come with me." Said a voice, ever silky and sweet. "Chiya!" yelled Romano, whirling around. "'Chiya'? That all you have to say to me?" said the voice, deep in the shadows. Romano narrowed his eyes. "Who are you? What do you want, dammit? I'm busy." The willow rustled, and something thumped to the ground. Roman's heart began to pound. He wanted oh so badly to run far, far away. But no! He wasn't the half of Italy that ran! And besides, he kind of did want to see who this mysterious strange was. So, against his better judgment, he stood still, and waited for the stranger to emerge.


	4. UPDATE: 121112

UPDATTTTTEEEEEEE

Hello! I'm not dead, I swear! Long story short, I've had the flu and it kicked me to China's house and back. But I'm better! HOWEVER, I'm going to Florida (Tee Hee. America's vital region lol.) for Christmas, 'cuz my grandparents live there. We are leaving innnnnnnnn….. A week! Holy Crapith!

My mom and I still have to pack, finish shopping, (This is going to be a huge thing. There's going to be at least 15 people in one house, living there for 2 weeks and four days) find someone to take our cats, and I've got to get my homework that I'm gonna miss AND memorize the rest of my choir songs. Needless to say, it's going to be VERY hectic. I don't know if I'll be able to write. I'll try, but I'm not promising to anything.

So, please don't send Belarus or Russia or Sweden, Denmark, or ANYBODY (Especially any Nordic) after me. Thank you! Maihai~


End file.
